


Home Fires

by silverspidertm2



Series: Short Hair [6]
Category: Berserk
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Feels, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 04:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13651083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverspidertm2/pseuds/silverspidertm2
Summary: Humans have but one choice that truly matters; care, or cease to exist.





	Home Fires

**Author's Note:**

> I was wondering if anyone thought of this in the other fics, but I just wanted to say that if Guts seems a little out of character in these, it’s because in most of my scenes he’s interacting with Casca. He’s always more open when he’s around her. Ah, love, *shippy fangirl sigh*. Another thing, in this and any of my other fics, whenever someone says ‘he’ or ‘him’ and you’re not sure who they’re talking about, chances are they’re talking about Griffith. I just feel like it’s less painful for the other characters – namely Guts and Casca – to have to say his name as little as possible. That’s all for now. Hope you like it!

Being a Hawk – and thus a mercenary – for as long as he could remember, Rickert understood one thing from a young age: wars were fruitful endeavors. Now that he was older, he was also glad to learn that one did not have to be in the front lines of battle to profit from the war. Not that he was making a fortune as a smith, but the constant fighting that seemed to be popping up left and right were creating plenty of demand for weapons and armor which kept him and Erica fed. He had no interest in getting personally involved. Whenever the morbid curiosity to see Griffith, who was in the middle of all the conflicts, Rickert had only to look out the window of his forge at the Hill of Swords to squelch it. Besides, spending the years after the Hawks were gone in peace made the idea of joining yet another war less than appealing.

Erica’s light steps crunched on some twigs outside in the late afternoon, and Rickert looked up when the girl appeared in the forge. It was typical of her to bring him something to eat when work consumed all his time. The fact that her hands were now empty made him frown a bit, but the enormous grin on her face was enough to make him forget all about food.

“What is it?” His voice held more curiosity than concern.

“You’ll never guess who’s here!” She was practically bouncing with giddiness.

The look on her face told him everything. He raced out of the forge, belatedly grateful nothing he dropped had the potential to set the entire building on fire, and around the corner where he nearly ran full speed into his visitors. Most were new to him. The boy with spiky flame-red hair a year or two younger than himself gave him a mock two-finger salute and grinned. There was also a young shy-looking girl in strange clothing and a staff in hand, and two blond youths who had nobility written all over them despite the travel-stained clothes. Puck, in the company of a female elf, waved at him from the air. Her hardly needed to be introduced to the last two.

“Guts!”

The large swordsman gave him one of his recently rare smiles and patted him on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you again, Rickert.”

“What about me?” asked an amused female voice behind the man. “Don’t I get a hug?”

Rickert blinked and checked his memory to make sure he heard it correctly, but there was no mistake. Standing before him, hands folded, Casca gave him a look of mock annoyance before her mouth turned up in a bright grin. She was here, alive and well and more than that. Rickert could see it. She was herself again. Dislodging himself from Guts, the blond youth launched himself at his old friend and captain.

“I can’t believe it!” he didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry, so he did both, wiping the tears from his eyes. “You’re back! Really back!”

“I’m really back,” she was laughing and hugging him back. “And look at you,” she held him at arm’s length for a closer inspection. “You shot up more than a foot since I remember you.”

Rickert could do nothing but smile.

“This is all touching,” the red-haired youth chimed in in a bored voice, “but it’s way past midday, and we haven’t had any lunch. So how about some grub?”

The house possessed but one wooden table with benches on either side, but it was more than enough to accommodate the group. Introductions were made as the food was laid out. Rickert learned the names of Guts’ new companions, and Erica promptly started to chat with Casca. It did not seemed to phase the girl that the dusky skinned woman did not remember her, but then she was always easy-going. The young witch, Schierike, and noblewoman, Farnese, must have also made an impression on her, because Erica promptly demanded they show her some real magic after everyone had eaten.

“I was worried,” the young smith admitted when they were all seated at the table. “There’s been so much fighting lately, and we haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“We haven’t been involved in that,” Guts shook his head, taking a bite of a piece of buttered bread. “Least not yet.”

Blond brows drew together slightly. “Not yet?”

“It looks like it’s headin’ in that direction,” Guts said seriously. “That’s part of the reason we’re here. Casca needs a sword and armor, if you can manage it.”

Rickert was thoughtful, then snapped his fingers.

“I have just the thing. New metal came in last week. Very strong, very light. It gets that way from being folded onto itself and reforged and... you don’t care about that, do you?” Everyone was smiling at him in that nearly patronizing way that reminded him all too much of the way his over-enthusiasm had usually been received by the Hawks. Rickert cleared his throat. “The armor might be more problematic. I have more practice with swords and other blades and, no offense,” he gave Casca an apologetics look, “but I’ve never made armor for a woman before.”

“It’s alright,” she assured him. “I think we have time. Besides, there’s something I need to do.”

* * *

“Hi,” Casca knelt at one of the numerous swords perturbing from the ground at the crest of the hill. “It’s past time I came to visit.”

When Guts had first told her of the grave site Rickert had constructed, she found the idea odd at best. After all, the Eclipse had not taken place here, there were no bodies under the swords that made up the grave markers, and the weapons themselves did not even belong to the people they were supposed to represent. But actually standing there now, she understood that none of that mattered. The bodies of the Hawks along with their weapons where nowhere in this world in any case, and Rickert had made the swords before her in their memory, so it was a good a sight as any to remember her fallen friends. She brushed the dirt off one of the hilts almost tenderly.

“I’m thinking of you every day,” she assured the dead, “and I miss you all terribly. If there’s any shred of justice in this world or any other, you’re at peace.”

The words felt too standard and hollow, like something anyone would say at any grave. But this was not just any cemetery. Here was the memorial for hundreds of soldiers, men that she’d lead for over a year. Guts had told her she had nothing to feel guilty about, but she _had_ been their leader, and a part of her felt that she failed them. She paused, but nothing poetic or profound came, so Casca spoke from her heart.

“I hope you forgive that I’m not with you. I wanted to be for a long time. A captain is expected to go down with his ship, and I would have been honored to die with you, but...” she smiled wistfully at the memory of the blond freckled warrior to whom she owed her life. “You can blame Judeau for that one. Please don’t misunderstand; I am grateful to be alive. I just wish you were all with me.

“Guts is here,” she continued, her mind shifting back to the present. “These years have taken their toll on him. He has a few dozen more battle scars, but I’m sure he’ll tell you all about those when he comes to see you himself. He will. Give him a little time, but he will. And I know Rickert’s been up here. You won’t believe how much he’s grown.”

Somehow she lapsed into something of a light, though one-sided, conversation, telling them of the new friends she had made, the wonders of Elfhelm, and other adventures. She did not speak of the darkness and was a little surprised that there was so much to tell without dwelling on it. Casca found herself smiling, and as she spoke, the sun rolled to the horizon. Twilight was upon her before she had a chance to think on just how much time she spent on the hill.

Heavy footsteps approached, and Casca waited until Guts settled on the ground to her right. Something clicked into place with his presence, and Casca suppressed another smile. It was the first time that the Band of the Hawk was together in one place in a long time.

“It’s getting late,” the swordsman said. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

He sounded somewhat like a concerned parent chiding a child not to stay out after dark, but in their case, the darkness held a very real threat. Casca absently touched the tunic over the brand on her left breast.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “I lost track of time. This place is comforting.”

Guts had to agree. He did not consider himself a sentimental person, but there was something serene about the Hill of Swords. It was part of the reason he’d come to get her when the sun set, aside from the obvious that he wanted to watch her back; if anything was to attack them, he did not want the fight to desecrate the memorial. Casca must have had the same idea, because she rose to her feet.

“Are we staying at the house?” she asked as they descended the hill.

Guts thought for a moment, then nodded. “It should be fine. Even if anything nasty shows up, we have more than enough swords to keep Rickert and Erica out of harm’s way. I’d opt for the elf cave, but that got buried the last time we were here.”

Casca’s gaze fell on the pile of rocks at the mouth of the cave, and suddenly a barricade in her mind became dislodged. The bleak darkness that was her memory of the years she’d spent buried deep within delusion began to flicker with the barest hint of light. Seeing the frown on her formally smooth face, Guts looked at her intently.

“What is it?”

“I remember something,” she said uncertainly, grasping for any memory that would come to her. “There was avalanche here? No, wait,” she raised her hand to stop him from correcting her. “It wasn’t an avalanche. You fought something here. Something big. An apostle?”

“Zodd.”

“That’s right. Griffith was here, too, and when the landslide started...” she paused, not sure whether or not to trust the memory. “I think he saved me.” She turned to Guts to see his reaction, but his face remained grim and steady. Casca’s confusion grew. “Why would he do that?”

“He didn’t.”

Both whirled at the sound of a child’s voice and faced the dark-haired boy who stood in a beam of moonlight at the crest of the Hill of Swords just a few meters from them.

“He didn’t save you,” the child repeated. “I did.”

He descended the hill, bare feet heedless of the rocky terrain, and met them halfway. Casca was the first to reach him, kneeling by the boy, but Guts remained standing. The brands did not bleed, but he was wary.

“What do you mean?” Casca asked, taking the child’s hands in her own. She should have been surprised to see someone who had not been there a moment ago, but so much had happened that something like that did not even take her a back anymore. Besides, the boy’s presence brought her a warmth she should not quite explain.

The child fidgeted, glancing back and forth between Casca and Guts. The behavior seemed odd to the swordsman for some reason, though he could not say why. He was different, that much was certain, but the first time Guts had seen him, the boy responded to little other than Casca herself, who at the time was not yet of sound mind. He’d never heard him speak or show any emotion, but now he was clearly nervous.

“I wasn’t that strong back then,” the boy spoke, “but I saw the rocks fall through his eyes, and I forced him to help. I don’t think he knew it was me, that I could do that, but he does now.”

Suddenly recalling Casca’s dream or vision of Griffith and the child that stood before them, Guts’ frown deepened.

“How are you two connected?” he demanded. Scattered pieces that at first glance seemed completely unrelated were starting to fall together in his mind, and Guts didn’t like what they seemed to be leading up to.

The boy’s big black eyes met his own. The child wavered, unsure. Finally he replied. “The Tower.”

“The Tower of Conviction?” he did not really have to ask. The boy said nothing, which Guts took as affirmation. He uttered a curse and finally knelt beside Casca, wiping his hands over his face as a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over him. Casca looked questioningly between the two of them.

“You know who I am,” the boy insisted when Guts would not look at him. He turned his gaze back to Casca, “and you might not know, but you feel it, don’t you? Mama...”

Casca took in a sharp breath and closed her eyes against the overpowering flood of emotions. Her right hand reached out to grasp Guts’ shoulder for support while she held on to her son’s with her left. Guts’ face remained impassive.

“You weren’t like this the last time I saw you.”

“The last time you saw me,” the boy replied, “I was dying.”

“Tell us _exactly_ what’s been going on.”

In short, and often overlapping, confusing sentences, the child recalled everything he knew. His memory was very unclear and fragmented, but having witnessed the events in the outside world, Guts had a good idea how to fill in the gaps. He kept his face a neutral mask, but fury coursed through him as sure as the blood that flowed through his veins. Casca’s breathing was labored and her hand on his shoulder was a reminder that there was no way he could give into the rage now. She needed him.

“He knows I’m here,” the boy concluded, his voice starting to shake. “He told me to tell you not to peruse him, but... He doesn’t hate or love or grieve or have any empathy for life. He cares nothing about anyone or anything but playing out his dream. I’m stronger now, but I can only do so much, and I don’t want you hurt, but someone has to stop him. I understand that now.”

“Someone will,” Guts vowed, teeth gritted.

“He used you to return to this world,” Casca murmured, half in shock, half disbelief.

“But I’m still here,” the boy assured her. “I mean... I’m not sure how it works. I’m awake and aware inside his mind. Sometimes, when things fall into place, I can use his power to project myself to the outside world. The light from the full moon helps, but when it’s gone...”

“You’ll be gone,” Guts concluded, his mood dark.

The child nodded but said nothing else. He was afraid, anyone could see it, and it was not a child’s innate fear of the unknown. Guts knew the look in his eyes. It was the very real, very adult fear and doubt that your opponent was stronger than you were.

Casca reached out for their son and took him in her arms, stroking the boy’s long, wild hair and whispering words of comfort. Guts sat still for a moment before he, too, reached out to rest his hand on the boy’s back. Casca’s arm was still linked in his, and the three of them made a chain that felt unbreakable. Minutes or hours passed. It did not matter. When they were together like this, nothing in the world could touch them.

The child stiffened and turned his head to the side, as if he was listening to some distant sound neither of them could hear. His young face screwed up in denial then slowly faded to acceptance. Gently but firmly, he pushed against Casca with both hands to free himself from his mother’s hold.

“I have to go now,” he said morosely. “Remember what I said, and please try to stay safe. Father,” Guts met his eyes, “in the end, do what you have to. I know you will.”

Casca still refused to let go of his hand even as it began to fade in her grasp. The boy smiled sadly, unshed tears threatening to spill.

“I love you both,” were his last words before he was gone. “Remember...”

A single droplet splashed to the ground where the child stood a mere second ago and was immediately swallowed by the earth. Guts and Casca were alone.

She was silent for so long that Guts began to worry. He always worried when she was quiet for too long after the years she’d spent in silence. Her dark eyes stared unblinking at nothing in particular, but then her hand went for Flora’s amulet at her throat.

“This thing dampens the effect of the brand?” her voice was toneless.

“Yeah,” Guts answered slowly, “but what...”

Before he could finish, she tore the object from around her neck and flung it to the ground to land around the protruding edge of a sword. Her hand came away with smudges of black ink after she reached under her tunic, and she deftly wiped it on her pant leg before getting to her feet. Guts just stared at her.

“What are you doing?”

“Schierike can reapply it later,” Casca replied courtly. Without much consideration, she drew a sword from the ground. “Right now, I need to kill something, and I prefer it not be one of our friends.”

She stalked towards the woods at the far end of the path, and Guts had no choice but to follow, the DragonSlayer already draw. When the creatures came, drawn buy the pull of the brand, Guts let her fight as many as he dared herself. He knew all too well how powerful the all-consuming anger could be.

It was not until dawn broke a little less than an hour later, and the space around them was filled with corpses of the human and other verity, that Casca finally exhaled the pain she’d been holding in an anguished scream to the skies and fell to her knees in defeat. Guts seethed the DragonSlayer, assured that nothing would come at them now that the sun had risen, and walked over to her, kneeling by her side. She said nothing for a long moment, eyes closed, fingers gripping her knees, then spoke so softly, he barely heard her.

“I thought it would help. Make me feel better. It didn’t.”

“It never does,” Guts admitted, not wishing to lie to her. “In the moment, in the heat of battle, I sometimes forget, but it never lasts once they’re all dead.”

“It hurts so very much.” Her eyes screwed shut, as if trying to block everything out. “I’m so... angry! He _took_ my child!”

Guts more than understood her anger; he felt it. It had been easier to think of the boy as dead. Casca had false memories from her dream, visions of their son as a happy, laughing child, but when she awoke, she had accepted that he was gone, the other casualty of her rape at Griffith’s hands. To now realize that he continued to be a victim was nearly overwhelming.

“I know,” he said simply.

Her eyes snapped open, and he suddenly found himself at the other end of her furious glare.

“Don’t you have something else to say?” she demanded. “He’s _your_ son, too!”

“I know that!” Guts bit his lip, wondering how to explain it without adding to her ire. “Casca, I’ve had the luxury of being blinded by anger for years. We both can’t loose it, and I thought you deserved to let it out, if only for a little while.”

“I’ve lost it enough to last me several lifetimes,” she snorted humorlessly and managed to stager to her feet leaning on the sword in her hand. “I’m not okay. I can’t go back yet. At least not until I get this off.”

Casca held out the edge of her tunic, indicating the splatters of blood and other unmentionables that covered it. Guts knew he must look no better. Certainly neither of them smelled particularly fresh. Some time away would be best. They would be back before next nightfall.

“There’s a clearing and a river about a kilometer from here,” he said. “It’s where I trained the year I spent here.”

The rush of water reached them before the trees parted to reveal the waterfall and river that flowed from it. Guts let her walk a few steps ahead of him. This part was private, he knew that. She’d released as much as she could when she hacked away at the hordes of hell. This time was for he. She would either accept what was happening or... His thoughts ended abruptly when he saw her stop by the river’s edge and begin to unceremoniously remove her clothing. With no little effort, Guts averted his gaze. Splashing was heard as she stepped into the water but then stopped abruptly.

“Aren’t you coming?” she asked evenly, standing mid-thigh in the river.

“I’m... good for now.” His gaze shifted between the forest and the sky, anywhere but on her. “Really, you go ahead and try not to drown.” He was only half joking. Something bad – usually nearly fatal – always happened when he stood by the waterside with her.

“Then come in here with me.” She held out her hand insistently. “This is stupid, and I can’t believe I’m standing here naked and I still have to _ask_ you to join me.”

“Casca...”

“Whatever happens,” she said firmly, “I _am_ ready. I wasn’t before, but I am now. I love you, and I’m supposed to... what? Never be with you because of something _he_ did years ago? I refuse to give him that kind of power. He’s taken too much from me. From us. I won’t give him a single moment more, except on the field of battle.” Casca extended her hand to him again. “Come in with me. Whatever happens, happens.”

Guts took a deep breath and finally looked at her. The air caught in his throat. She was so very beautiful. Much of the lean tone that her muscles had lost over the years was starting to come back, but her body was, as ever, feminine, all curves and dips perfectly proportioned. Her hand was still outstretched in invitation, and he finally threw caution to the winds and stripped off his own clothing, leaving it in a pile next to hers and his prosthetic arm. It was after he’d removed the false appendage and began walking towards her that it occurred to him how his battle-scarred and maimed body must look next to her beauty. It made him feel absurdly self-conscious. Absurd, because they had done this dance before, but then it was in a different time, and there had been considerable fewer scars to count.

She took his hand and led him into the river. The water was cold so early in the morning, but with Casca so close to him, Guts hardly felt it. They waded into the river until the water was chest-high for him. Any deeper and Casca would not be able to stand on the bottom easily. The flow at the core of the waterfall was too powerful, but they moved close enough to it to let some of the water cascade over their bodies and was away the stains of the battle.

Casca emerged from underneath the flow first and pushed back her short wet strands. Her back was to him, and at first Guts did not hear her sobs amidst the rush of the water, but when he saw her shoulders shake, he stepped closer and wrapped his one good arm around her torso, pulling her small frame against his significantly larger one, and simply held her.

“Not a single moment more,” he whispered against her hair, reminding her of her own words.

Casca swallowed a final sob, then nodded and turned to face him. “It’s our time now.”

With that she pushed herself up on her toes and crushed her mouth against his. Guts returned the kiss with matching fire and passion, holding her as firmly against him. She always had been the only one, now or ever in his life, who he opened up to so completely. The connection was so complete; she was almost a part of him. Each felt the other’s strength flowing through them, and Guts knew for certain that he more than an aimless killer. He had a purpose, a reason for being alive, if only it was to be with her.

With her, he was a man.

**Author's Note:**

> Probably unfair for me to leave you all at the best part, but I really feel and dirty detail would spoil things. I’ve been wanting to give Guts and Casca this moment since I started writing Berserk fics way back with “Short Hair”, but if felt wrong in that one. Not sure when I’ll write more of these. Nothing’s on my mind quiet yet, but you never know. Till next time!


End file.
